About That Night. Beth Andrews
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WATCHED IVY pick up the empty champagne glass, lift it to her mouth and tip it back. When nothing came out, Ivy held the glass out and glared at it, as if she’d expected bubbly wine to magically appear.
“Are you okay?” Gracie asked. She tucked her hands under her legs to warm them. Her nose was starting to run. She sniffed. “You’re acting...” Weird. Flustered. “...not like yourself.”
Ivy was not only possibly the most beautiful woman Gracie had ever seen in real life, she was also the coolest. Always in complete control of her emotions. Her actions.
Gracie knew her well enough to know it was a defense mechanism of some sort, a facade she kept up in order to keep people at bay. Still, she couldn’t help but admire Ivy for it.
“I’m fine. Come on. Let’s get back inside before we freeze to death.”
“Thank goodness.” They climbed out and crossed the parking lot, their steps quick, the click-click of Ivy’s heels ringing. Pressing her hands to her aching ears, Gracie hurried to keep up, though how Ivy could move so fast in those high heels—let alone how she wore them during her entire shift—was beyond Gracie. “Do you think there’s a correlation between low temperatures and hearing loss? I mean, the cold can affect blood circulation. Extreme heat can affect brain function.”
“I have no idea. I’m sure you could find out, though.”
That was the thing about Ivy. She never got frustrated with Gracie’s questions, was never short with her when she started talking, never interrupted her and told her to condense what she had to say and wrap it up already.
She listened. Really listened. And she believed in Gracie, in her ability to seek out her own answers. To find her own way.
Ivy opened the door, and they stepped into the blessedly warm hallway.
“I have a few more minutes left on my break,” Ivy said. “I’m going to grab a bite to eat.”
“Okay.” Gracie took the one-hundred-dollar bill from her pocket. “I suppose I should give this back to the hot cowboy.”
“Why would you do that?”
“He asked me to get you. I didn’t.”
“He asked you to deliver his message to me. Which you did.”
Gracie bit her lower lip. She could use the money, no lie. At the rate her parents kept having kids, they wouldn’t be able to afford to pay for her college tuition until she was sixty. “It doesn’t seem right.”
Ivy looked as if she was about to argue, but then she smiled. “It’s up to you. Follow your heart.” She picked a tiny silver piece of heart confetti from Gracie’s sleeve and handed it to her. “No pun intended.”
They parted ways at the end of the hall, Ivy heading into the kitchen, Gracie going back to the main room. The band was playing a slow country song long on melody and short on substance, repeating how love had saved some poor guy.
Gracie wanted to kick the lead singer in the shin. Get him to just stop already.
She was sick of love songs. Yes, it was an engagement party, so she supposed they were fitting, but add the songs to the fact that it was Valentine’s Day, and it was all just too much.
V-day. It was so dumb. All that pink. All those hearts and the sappy commercials telling you the only way you were worth anything was if you had a significant other.
It was ridiculous. Being single wasn’t a bad thing. You had to be comfortable being alone before you could fully be with someone else anyway.
And she’d keep telling herself that until she finally believed it.
The cowboy was still where she’d last seen him, but now he was talking to a beautiful blonde in a clingy red dress. The woman turned, gestured wildly with her hands, and Gracie realized she wasn’t a woman, but a girl around her own age.
A girl with the body of a twenty-five-year-old swimsuit model and the face of a beauty queen. The dress showed ample amounts of toned, tanned thighs and above-average boobs. Her hair fell, thick and straight, to her shoulders, the strands glossy and smooth.
Gracie touched a coarse, loose curl at her temple, tucked it behind her ear.
Nothing like seeing perfection standing effortlessly in a pair of four-inch heels to make a girl feel inadequate.
Gracie frowned. That was just silly. A person’s worth should never be based on their looks. So what if the blonde was one of “those girls,” the kind who probably never went anywhere— including gym class or a quick trip to the grocery store—without full makeup and high heels. Who rolled out of bed with nary a snarl in their hair or a pimple on their chin.
It took all kinds.
A dark-haired guy tapped the blonde on the shoulder. Something about the color of his hair, the shape of his head seemed familiar. Before Gracie could figure out if she knew him or not, the blonde turned and squealed as if he’d spent the past ten years on a deserted island with only a volleyball for company, then threw her arms around him. Hugging her back, he turned, giving Gracie a clear view of the huge smile on his face.
His handsome, lying face.
Gracie stumbled and rammed her hip into a chair, bumping it so hard against the table, the glasses on it wobbled. Her face flamed. “Sorry,” she mumbled to the cowboy, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Andrew Freeman’s head jerk up, felt his gaze on her.
The cowboy motioned for her to join him by the large window overlooking the front lawn. She went gratefully. It was better to have that bit of distance between her and where Andrew embraced the beautiful girl.
Better, but not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Couldn’t you find her?” the cowboy asked.
Gracie pursed her lips. He didn’t seem angry. More like he couldn’t understand why she hadn’t done what he’d wanted her to do. Ivy’s words about him being willing to pay to get his way floated through Gracie’s head. Yes, he was nice. And no, he wasn’t yelling at her—like some other guests might have done. But he was obviously used to getting his way.
Maybe Ivy had been right to keep her distance.
“I found her,” Gracie admitted. “I told her you wanted to speak with her, but she declined.”
He raised his eyebrows as if that was a turn of events he’d never expected. “Excuse me?”
“She declined. It means to politely refuse an invitation. But that’s just in this case. Decline could also mean to become smaller or a gradual loss of strength, numbers, qual—”
“I know what decline means,” he said, exasperation edging his tone.
She got that a lot.
“You looked totally confused, so I wasn’t sure.”
He rubbed his forehead, bumping the edge of his hat. “Did you tell her I wanted to see her?”
Hadn’t she just said that? “Yes. I was very specific. She said you weren’t used to being turned down. That this would be a good life lesson for you. So here—” Gracie held out the money. “You can have this back.”
He flicked his gaze from her hand to her face. “That’s yours.”
“But I didn’t earn it. And it doesn’t feel right, keeping it. Plus, now that I’ve had time to think about it—” and time to let the excitement of that much money fade “—I realize it’s sort of icky, a middle-aged man—”
“Middle-aged?” He looked pained. “I need another drink.”
“Giving a teenage girl that much cash. I mean, you don’t look like the kind of guy who’d try to bribe young girls to do, well, things—if you know what I mean...”
He shut his eyes.